


So This Is Love (I'm All Aglow)

by Snowy_Rain



Series: Amortentia/Love Potions [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Dates, Banter, Companion Piece, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gen, Hugs, Implied Relationship Negotiation, Loosely Based On "Ribbon Tied Right", M/M, Our drunk boys were sentimental fools, The twin of "Mr Sandman I'm So Alone", Voldemort isn't very smitten right now, Voldemort's Birthday, Weird Fluff, Wine, but our sober boys are snarky fools, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25085764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy_Rain/pseuds/Snowy_Rain
Summary: Lord Voldemort doesn’t celebrate his seventy-first birthday. So Harry takes him out on a date. (Well,outis an exaggeration.)
Relationships: Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Amortentia/Love Potions [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1760770
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	So This Is Love (I'm All Aglow)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get out of my writing funk :P Why does everything I write feel so lame???? Lord knows

Though it had been many months ago, Harry remembered his seventeenth birthday. It had been joyfully pleasant - he had never realized how fun it was to let go and enjoy the sensations around him, a small laugh in the middle of the night, and a few glasses of butterfly wine. It was a sparklingly sweet, slightly glowing drink, with wings of butterflies flopping out of his mouth whenever coughing. The taste had reminded him of apples and strawberries, though he had never been partial to them before. Voldemort had truly spoiled him.

But the wine had deluded his senses too. He had been half-delirious when he had requested to be escorted back, what with Voldemort being - well,  _ him.  _ Had he been sober, Harry would have probably realized what a stupid idea that was. Sadly - or should he say luckily - he had not, so he had walked back to Number Four with Voldemort, pushing each other into the asphalt and creating general mayhem around the neighborhood. You know, the usual - setting small fires to ugly flowers in pots, putting Mrs. Figg’s many cats on trees scattered around the whole Magnolia Crescent - that sort of thing. It had been one of Harry’s best birthdays. Quiet. Peaceful, in the sense that there had been no expectations and no reason to hurry. Just the night chill, the moonlight, and the smell of Voldemort’s robes.

_ What was the smell? _ Harry wondered. Something flowery, probably. Voldemort seemed like the type to enjoy that. Harry could not say he hated it - he was the one visiting Voldemort, after all.

Speaking of visiting Dark Lords - Harry had come to the Malfoy Manor with a mission. Last time, Voldemort had told him that he didn’t celebrate his birthdays. Of course, knowing him to be a middle-aged wizard, Harry could see that Voldemort had spoken with practicality and not sentimentality. Added on top of that was his Dark Lord duties, which he had mostly reworked and adjusted for his promise to Harry, and suddenly there was no time for sentimental celebrations for the Lord.

Harry was here to change that.

He was sitting in the waiting room, reading one of the many  _ Witch Weekly  _ magazines abandoned on the coffee table. Voldemort had once mentioned that there was a story behind that, but he had never explained it in detail.

Harry had been on page fourteen, reading his quiz results on  _ Which Wizard Is Your Soulmate?  _ when a house-elf announced to him that Lord Voldemort was awake and working in his study.

_ Figures,  _ he thought as he put the magazine back.  _ Working late. Again.  _ If he hadn’t been so determined to force a vacation on the man, this would have wholly convinced him. He walked with the elf to the upper level, letting the creature knock on the door for him. He remembered what had happened last time he had interfered. 

Voldemort’s voice reached through the mahogany door, “Come in, it’s unlocked. I know it’s you, Harry."

Harry pushed the door, coming face to face with the Dark Lord, who looked at him with a sort of exasperation and fondness. “Berk.”

“It is you who is the berk, dear.”

“Not as big a berk as you, though,” Harry replied, falling onto the soft silken cushions of a sofa. “Have I mentioned that I love your furniture?”

Voldemort rolled his eyes. “Only fifteen times. It makes me wonder if you wish to marry these…” The man tried to find a fitting word.  _ “Pieces of wood.  _ You know, instead of me.”

“I’m sorry, my dear Dark Lord, but they have more to offer than you.”

_ “Oh?”  _ Voldemort intoned, amused. “Pray tell, what do they offer to you?”

Harry flushed and burrowed deeper into the cloudy cushion. “Well, for starters, they don’t have bones that prick me when I try to hug them.”

“Do continue. This is fascinating. See, I’m even taking notes.”

Snorting, Harry spoke, “Funny. The second is that they listen to me very well.”

“Do I not listen to you, though?”

“You-” Harry couldn’t complain about Voldemort not listening to him. To be frank, sometimes he wondered if the man was listening  _ too much.  _ “You do, actually. But the sofa does it better.” He shook his head. This wasn’t what he came here for. “Anyway, our issue is something else.”

Voldemort smiled and leaned back into his work, rapidly skimming through numerous documents and not even frowning in concentration. Harry  _ really  _ enjoyed his brain - it was a real marvel.

“You didn’t invite me to spend your birthday with you!” Harry accused him. He saw Voldemort’s minute flinch and a twitch of his lips, as if he was forcing himself not to react. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t have many choices about that,” Voldemort said. “Frankly, I didn’t want to let you see me when I’m wallowing in self-pity.”

“Let  _ me  _ decide what I’m willing to see. And in this case, I  _ am.  _ Seeing you wallowing around, I mean. Moping. Sulking. Any of it is fine. I’d rather help you than stay away, knowing that you are going through something hard by yourself.” He paused and pondered on Voldemort’s words. “Is this about your past? Your situation when you were Tom Riddle?”

“It is,” Voldemort confirmed and heaved a sigh. “I- well, I don’t want to talk about this. I want to be honest with you, Harry, but I don’t feel comfortable reliving my… unfortunate days.”

“That’s fair,” he said, shrugging. “But I still think you deserve to feel happy right now, so I’m taking you out.”

Voldemort stopped reviewing his documents and stared at Harry, an unknown glimmer in his eyes. “As in,  _ finally send you to the afterlife  _ kind or the  _ let’s go stargazing  _ kind?”

“You have the worst sense of humor I’ve ever seen. Drunk Voldemort can joke better than you. We’re going to go watch the snowfall, you twit.”

“In  _ this weather?”  _ the man said. “I doubt that. It’s cold as  _ arse  _ right now. I’m not leaving the manor.”

“Yes, you are, you chicken. You need some snow on that shiny head.”

“Thank you for making fun of my baldness, Harry, I’m feeling the love quite well.”

Harry pouted and threw his head back onto the headrest, glancing at Voldemort’s bright red eyes. They were rather pretty, even without the long, thick eyelashes he had seen on Tom Riddle.

“Does that mean we’re having a date inside?” Harry asked. “I want to go on a date.”

“...The contract doesn’t cover holidays, Harry,” Voldemort informed him, though Harry knew this already. “It’s very clean-cut and precise - you only need to spend the weekends with me. We are already meeting on weekdays. Do you want to see me every day?”

“I mean”-Harry shrugged- "I do like you, you know? I don’t know if I wanna see you  _ every day,  _ but I know that I miss you.”

Voldemort tilted his head,  _ very  _ reminiscent of an overgrown feline contemplating whether to paw at the toy or to meow at it, and Harry had to blink at the sudden urge to laugh.

“If you are sure,” Voldemort said, making a weird face as if he didn’t know what face to make at all. “I do enjoy our time together, however. You know this, right?”

“You don’t say,” Harry deadpanned. “I wonder why the Dark Lord spoils me rotten with gifts, tells me that I look fabulous, and then gives me my favorite flowers.”

“Oh  _ shush,  _ you little hellion. You like those gifts. And you do look fabulous.”

“Thank you,” Harry received the compliment graciously. “Does that mean you’ll join me this evening? For a little celebration?”

"Is this celebration, perchance, going to celebrate my birthday?"

Harry's silence answered his question.

Voldemort sighed, rubbing his temples. "You aren't as sneaky as you think you are, Harry."

"On the contrary, I know  _ exactly  _ how not subtle I am. No, I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"And what will it be? I have things to draft, letters to write, people to order about."

"All of which can be postponed. We'll get some tea and biscuits and I'll let you rant a bit - about all those people you hate and then yell at - then we can try some more wine."

"You mean  _ you  _ will try some more wine," Voldemort said. "Very well. I suppose there is no escaping what's inevitable. I'll inform Lucius to take over until I'm back."

"Won't take too long," Harry told him, a grin parting his mouth. "It might even end by eight."

A chuckle-mixed scoff, a letter written and sent, and Voldemort was standing now, walking around his desk to join Harry on the soft, bouncy sofa. Harry dipped and rose as Voldemort seated himself, the man's shoulder nearly level with his head.  _ I need to get taller,  _ was his thought, before Voldemort coughed and got his attention back.

"I hope you will let the elf make the tea, Harry."

"But that takes all the fun from it," Harry said, though he was far from upset. Making tea  _ did  _ get tedious sometimes.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "I hope you weren't expecting me to let you make  _ tea,  _ which is why we have house-elves for."

_ "You  _ made me tea," Harry tried to defend himself, but judging by the answering look from the Dark Lord, that hadn't done it. He knew just as well as Voldemort that  _ that  _ had been under different circumstances, what with the Dursleys cowering in fear at the thought of a snake-like, freaky wizard in their kitchen. That wasn't to say that Harry didn't enjoy Voldemort's occasional power plays against rude people.

"Tea, Whimsy," Voldemort ordered, an invisible force delivering the cups in a matter of moments. Whimsy must have been preparing for this then.

Harry took his cup - it was patterned with golden snitches and was his favorite thing in this whole manor - and glanced back at the Dark Lord.

"The guest first," he spoke, casually nodding at Harry's tea. "I wonder how you will like rabbit tea."

Harry opened his mouth -  _ what the hell was rabbit tea, was he drinking a rabbit, what the hell Voldemort  _ \- but then he closed it, just as quickly. If Voldemort thought he might like it, he just might. Or perhaps he was testing Harry, as he sometimes did. Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

"Bon appetit, " Harry cheered, taking his first look at the tea. It had a deep color, shining with shadows in the cup's depths and glimmering with the maroon red. It smelled rather strong too, like boiled, sour fruits - he was a bit apprehensive about the tea now.

He took a deep breath, psyched himself up, and gulped the first sip down. The teas the Dark Lord's elves served had never been too hot, so it went down smoothly and without irritating his tongue.

"It's good," Harry exclaimed with a bit of surprise. His eyes snapped up to the Dark Lord, who wasn't watching at all yet had a self-satisfied smirk hidden under the rim of the cup, drinking his tea. "You are a berk."

"Really, Harry, you need to come up with better insults. You can't expect to call me the same name for the rest of our lives, not if you want me to laugh at it."

"Har har, you are funny, my dear Voldemort."

"I am dear, aren't I?" Voldemort mused, glancing up and making eye contact over the cup.

"Cheeky too. Looks like it's my time to spoil you."

"Do try. I love to see you scramble."

Harry huffed, turning away from the man and angrily sipping his tea until the taste of sour berries and tart cherries became familiar to his palate.

"Why is it called rabbit tea, by the way?" he asked.

Voldemort hummed. "I heard it's because it is as red as a rabbit's blood."

"That can't be  _ all,  _ can it?" He frowned. "Don't tell me this is rabbit blood. I'm never going to drink tea again. Is this even tea?"

Voldemort, yet again, having adopted the gesture from Harry, rolled his eyes. Harry was so proud. He was corrupting the Dark Lord. "No, it's not blood. It's an herbal tea, which is the farthest you can get from animal blood."

"Aren't all teas herbal?"

That seemed to stump Voldemort, who gave a brief pause. "No," he answered, a bit hesitant. "I don't think so. Or are they?"

"Or are they," Harry repeated. "I mean, there  _ is  _ milk tea. And then cream."

"Those are extras. You put them in after preparing the tea."

"Or do you?"

"Merlin, you will fill my brain with useless thoughts. What does it matter if the tea is herbal or not? I need every little space in my head, darling."

"Hmm… Or do you."

Voldemort sighed and smiled, raising his cup to drink the last of his tea. Harry copied him and restarted drinking his.

"So why do they call this rabbit tea?"

"This is where it gets disgusting, I'm afraid. On the island of  _ Tavshan,  _ there is a legendary rabbit that eats pixies and digests their magic."

"Don't tell me the tea is its  _ droppings,"  _ Harry cut in, feeling ill. "Voldemort,  _ don't." _

"It's not, calm yourself. The pixies are decapitated, eaten by the rabbit. The rabbit, afterward, smears their blood on specific herbs on the island, causing them to glow. The wizards in charge of the island collect these herbs and prepare this tea. The rabbit does this at least thrice every year, so it is a rather luxurious good."

"So that's why it's called rabbit tea," Harry said. "Wow. Okay. That was interesting. How was your day, Voldemort?"

"It was fine, thank you," the man offered. "I had to deal with some embezzlement cases, but those aren't new anyway. Aside from that, the cauldron bottom thickness issue has been solved, so I am in a rather good mood today."

"I'm glad to hear it," Harry chirped. "So… do you want to hug?"

Voldemort huffed a laugh and asked, "I thought you said my hugs were bony?"

"I can handle a few bones. Yours are inside you, at least."

"I can't argue with that. Come here then, my Savior."

Harry put his rabbit tea - Merlin, that was so weird - and pulled his legs up to the sofa, scooting on the extra fluffy cushion until his torso was facing Voldemort's arm. The man was too tall. Not that Harry envied that bone structure.

"You are trying to figure out how to hug me."

"I'm not," Harry said, even though he was. Voldemort knew he was too. "I'm just admiring you."

"While I'm thankful for your admiration, I would rather be ogled when you aren't supposed to hug me."

"Hug incoming," Harry warned, then promptly embraced the Dark Lord around his chest, arms and all. Voldemort had to be a saint for all the hugs he endured from Harry, who had decided after years of awkward hugging that harder was the best strategy. Harry could feel the flimsy muscles under his own, twitching ever so slightly at the pressure treatment. He decided that for this, he would let Voldemort decide their next date place.

"Thank you," Voldemort said politely. "However, before I'm bruised and my bones break-"

"Of course, sorry."

"No trouble," Voldemort replied, looking a little forlorn. "This body is somewhat disadvantaged. Skinny, rather gigantic; I look barely qualified to  _ breathe,  _ let alone lead a country."

"It's good enough."

"Wouldn't you rather me have a more good-looking face?" Voldemort asked curiously. "I do look like death warmed over."

"Tom Riddle's face was handsome, I'll give you that," Harry agreed and snuggled deeper, softer this time. "I don't want you to change your face just for me though. If you hate it, go ahead - just don't do it just for me."

"Why not?" the man asked. "I don't care all that much."

"It...Well, it's not my place to decide that."

"Why not?" Voldemort repeated, staring with an unidentifiable expression. "You have as much say in this as I do. We are involved, after all. Wouldn't you rather have a partner whose…  _ appearance  _ is agreeable?"

"Yeah, but it's  _ your _ face."

"Then we compromise," Voldemort shot back, sighing in frustration and hugging him back. "Honestly, Harry, compromise is what we do. You haven't forgotten that, have you?"

"No," Harry denied it. "It's just that appearances are kind of weird. I don't mind your face. Tom Riddle's was nice, sure, but it's not like it matters much, does it?"

"It  _ does  _ matter. Humans like to act like faces are irrelevant, but we  _ do  _ consider them, Harry. Even if just a bit."

"I feel like you're saying that to convince me," he said. Deciding that it didn't matter, he let his head fall on the Dark Lord's shoulder. It wasn't  _ that  _ bony, but Harry liked making fun of it. "You aren't  _ that  _ bony. You make a good headrest."

"Joy. I feel as though I completed my life's purpose."

"Your sarcasm needs some work, Voldemort. Do you  _ have to  _ lay it on so thick?"

The man scoffed. "Ambiguity is for my underlings when I want to see them squirm. I would rather you know it's sarcasm than try to parse if I meant it or not."

"Very considerate," Harry agreed, his lips twitching. He snuggled closer and sighed into Voldemort's collarbone, feeling a hand run through his hair. "My favorite Dark Lord. Very polite, caring, and chivalrous."

"Now you are just making fun of me."

Harry grunted in denial. A sudden pop burst their bubble and the two pulled back.

"I forgot about the wine," Harry said. "Looks like Whimsy didn't, though. Thank you, Whimsy!"

Voldemort had this disgruntled crease on his brow as if the wine had committed a grievous sin against him. Despite this, the man took the bottle and placed his wand on the cork, unsealing it with his fancy wine magic. Harry didn't actually know whether there was wine-specialized magic, but he didn't  _ want _ to know.

The wine had come in a dark, gradient-colored bottle, just like frosted glass. There wasn't a brand name on it, so Harry guessed that it was from Voldemort's collection. 

"This is a Muggle variety," the Dark Lord announced, much to Harry's surprise. "It's called sparkling wine. I thought you might like it since you like sweet wines."

"I mean, yeah," Harry replied, watching carefully as the wine poured into delicate crystal flutes. The wine was clear and bubbly and fruity if Harry's nose didn't deceive him.

Voldemort handed him one of the flutes, clinking them together. Harry took the gesture as the cue it was and put his nose in the space above the wine, inhaling the fumes. Directly afterward, he was gulping it down enthusiastically.

"Slow down," Voldemort warned him. "It's sweet, not low in alcohol. I would rather not have a drunk Harry Potter in my study."

"I think I'm already drunk," Harry told him, licking his lips. "This is tasty. Thank you."

"Don't push yourself. Tell me immediately if you start getting dizzy."

"Will do," Harry murmured and sipped the rest of the wine, slumping back into the cushions. He could feel a gentle haze come over him, relaxing his muscles and easing a headache he hadn't known was there. "This is like a cure-all medicine. I love it."

"Wait until the hangover hits you, sweetheart. You will feel a bit less comfortable then."

"Thank you."

Voldemort heaved a sigh, letting his gaze soften. "No trouble, Harry. You look comfortable right now, aren't you?"

"Mm-hm."

"Try not to doze off," the man advised him. "I'll get you some water, then you can be on your way."

"It's only six," Harry protested, glancing at the weird, magical clock Voldemort had. "Or is it? I don't know how to read that small one, at the center."

"It's six-fifteen," Voldemort said. "You have two more hours here. Or perhaps… sleeping would do you some good. In that case, finish your wine and drink some water."

"Okay, your Highness."

"Then sleep a bit," Voldemort continued. "I have to start with my draft now, but I'll be at my desk. You can stay."

"Okay, I got it."

Voldemort rose from the sofa, and Harry oscillated with the up and down, wavy motions of the cushion. It was weird but fun. He sipped the last of the wine and put it back on the table, eyeing the glass of water in distaste.

"Drink that," Voldemort ordered. Harry soured his face. "Harry."

"Okay," he replied and took the water. "Just for you."

"I know."

The water was gone in regular gulps until only a little layer of it remained at the bottom. Harry was feeling a lot better now, and his hours were almost up.

"I guess this is goodbye," he announced. "Do you feel better now?"

Voldemort sighed. "Not quite, but I did enjoy this date. You don't have a responsibility to make me feel better. It's a ridiculous notion."

"But I wanted to. Anyway… Third time's the charm, I guess. I'll try it again next time."

Voldemort snorted, glancing up and smiling. "Goodbye, Harry. I'm sure your godfather is waiting for you."

"Oh-" Now that he mentioned it- "He is, yeah. Good night, Voldemort. Don't work too late."

"Of course," Voldemort waved him away. "Away, you infernal creature."

Harry laughed as he exited the study.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make it fluffy and sweet but.... I realized it wasn't so I gave up :D And then this monstrosity of a birthday date was born.
> 
> All right, context - so, _Tavshan_ is actually an island in Turkey, the name meaning _rabbit._ You can see why I chose it. (It was destiny lol.) And in Turkish, there is an expression that roughly translates to _rabbit's blood tea,_ which just means that the tea is very red. This tea Voldemort and Harry are drinking wasn't actually based on regular tea, however, but instead was based on rosehip and sumac tea, which taste very sour. I might have made the imaginary "rabbit tea" a bit sweeter lol.


End file.
